


Piping Skills

by Heraton29



Series: You & Icing [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BUT I LOVE THEM, Bad Puns, Baker Harry, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Icing, Kitchen table sex, Lots of icing, M/M, Tattoos, supportive Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heraton29/pseuds/Heraton29
Summary: When Harry can’t quite master decorative piping, he uses the best template in the world - Louis’ tattoos.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second installment of the silly antics between these two characters. Thank you so much for the positive response to the first fic, I really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy this much more steamy continuation.

A laminated sheet rests on the counter, smeared with icing and the invisible residue of Harry’s quickly fading dreams of being a master icing piping artist. The chef gave the cheat sheet to the class two weeks ago when they started the advanced tip unit, and every night since then he’s spent at least an hour hunched over, squeezing creamy sugar along the printed designs, hoping to mimic them to perfection. Looking at what he just piped has Harry ready to debate the usefulness of the entire skill with his teacher in the morning.

Who pipes anymore?! It’s old fashioned and lame.

Actually, Harry loves piped desserts. At You & Icing, the small bakery he owns, he creates themed piped cookies and cupcakes all the time. The designs are basic, though - royal icing-covered runner-shaped sugar cookies during marathon season, small books and pencils for when school starts, and countless shooting star cookies for Believe in Magic’s fundraising parties. The details and fluffy shapes on top of cookies, cupcakes, or tiered cakes always make his heart warm when he looks at them, but they also make him want to throw the pastry bags against a wall when he tries it himself.

It’s the one thing he really wanted to learn in pastry school, and it’s the one thing he truly sucks at, trusting his skilled staff to do any necessary embellishments. There’s a reason his bakery sells more pastries and bread than iced goods.

He signed up for the decorating class at the local tech school on a dare. Miranda, his most talented artist, bet he couldn’t make it through an entire semester class, and Harry, being his competitive self, refused to back away from the challenge.

What he needs right now, though, is a break from all the concentrating. He sets the pastry bag on the island top and walks into the living room, happy to lounge around for a little bit and watch Cutthroat Kitchen with Louis. Laying on the couch, Harry’s back to Louis’ front, he can forget for a short while that tomorrow morning is the hardest test he’s ever taken as a pastry chef.

“It’s gotta be some kind of creative blockage, H,” Louis says softly, stroking Harry’s arm with his feathery fingers.

Harry’s “hrmpf” isn’t very helpful to the situation, but it’s not like he has time to wander the streets in search of a way to unlock his hidden piping potential.

He grabs Louis’ hand instead of properly responding and turns to lay flat on the sofa with Louis still propped up on his side, pressed against the fluffy cushions. He positions Louis’ arm to rest comfortably and warm across his broad chest while he thinks of a different way to practice.

There’s a multitude of colors of construction paper in the hall closet, left over from when Louis made paper flower bouquets to decorate the house when his sisters visited a few years ago. In true Louis form, he bought at least four times the amount of supplies he actually needed, anticipating lots of mess ups and throw aways, but the only casualties came when Harry accidentally crushed a bundle lying on the couch. Louis had a real green paper thumb, and he formed and shaped the flowers beautifully, decorating the house in only a few nights.

Harry could freehand all over the thick sheets of colorful paper until the patterns work themselves out. He imagines the satisfaction of feeling the royal icing or buttercream squish and ooze between two pages when the designs inevitably go wrong.

That won’t do - too easy to get distracted smushing things.

In the bathroom there’s a small mirror that Louis uses when it’s time to clean up his eyebrows. It might help to see the piping tip move while he works, but then Harry realizes he’d probably also be able to see his own squinty face leaning over the mirror, scrunched up in concentration and looking ridiculous.

That’s much too distracting.

He’s about to give up and go back to the boring laminated sheet when he catches himself tracing Louis’ skull and bones tattoo on top of his wrist. It’s something he does often. There’s comfort and peace in running his finger over the miles of permanent ink all over Louis’ body.  

“Babe?” Harry asks with his sweeter-than-caramelized-peaches voice.

“Oh god, what is it now?” Louis teases, leaning down to lick the outside of Harry’s ear.

Harry almost falls off, trying to get away from the sticky spit. “Why’s it gotta be something?!” he asks as he wildly swings back fully on the couch.

Louis kisses his hair and says, “I only ever hear that voice when you’re scheming or accidently-on-purpose using the last of the tea.”

Harry sighs, “You make me sound like all I do is manipulate and ask for forgiveness later.”

Louis doesn’t reply so Harry glances up at his face. His lips are overly dramatically pursed and his perfectly shaped eyebrows are knitting the only beautiful sarcastic expression in the world.

“Okay fine,” Harry admits, “I need a favor from you.”

Louis nods for him to continue.

“I can’t get this fucking piping down, and-”

“You were doing so well earlier though,” Louis interjects.

“Well yeah,” Harry says, “that’s because I do edging every day, but this is like-”

“You do edging _every day_?”

Harry giggles and turns his body to completely face Louis. He has to rest one of his legs against the floor to make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Stop, I’m serious. This is really advanced stuff, and I gotta change up how I’m practicing or I’ll never get it.”

Louis’ face turns into what Harry’s started to call his “more fond than fondant” look, and he knows he’s in.

“What do you need from me then?” Louis asks, brushing their noses together.

“Let me pipe you,” Harry whispers.

Louis leans his head back as far as it can go before it slides between the crack in the cushions and lets out a deep, full bodied laugh. “I have to say,” he starts, trying to catch his breath, “no one’s ever asked me like that before.”

Harry joins in and before they know it, they’ve descended into a complete laughing fit, clutching each other and letting the happy noise slowly fade.

“You don’t even have to do a thing, I’ll do all the work,” Harry says in between dying giggles, only to start them all up again when Louis sings “Let my body do the work, work, work, work, work” and wiggles his hips against Harry’s.

“You’re too much, I love you,” Harry says as he climbs up, knowing the only way he’ll actually get any more practice in is if he starts to move toward the kitchen.

“Right back attcha, chefy,” Louis grins, still laying down.

Harry motions him to follow, and seconds later they’re standing next to the island. The white and grey marble countertops gleam under the soft light coming from the small copper pendants hanging from the ceiling.

“Let’s set you up on the table, probably have better light there,” Harry suggests, turning toward the attached dining room.

Louis looks confused and sits at a chair beside the long plank of live-edge wood.

“No, babe,” Harry starts, and then can’t help but laugh again. “I want to use your tattoos as my template.” Louis clearly still doesn’t understand because he just raises his eyebrows and rests an arm on the surface.

Harry shakes his head, “Get up, take off your clothes, and lay flat on the table.”

“You’re gonna draw all over me?” Louis asks while his shirt is over his face.

“That’s the idea.”

Harry watches Louis step on the chair and up to the table top, hot green boxer-briefs forcing his eyes to focus on the ass in his face. Like the most perfectly shaped split dinner roll, Louis’ ass is a work of art, and one Harry praises regularly.

“I’m so much taller than you now, yeeeaaaah,” Louis sing-songs, starting to shake his hips and shoulders in a somehow still sexy dance.

“Oh my god, lay down before you pull something,” Harry jokingly admonishes.

“Bossy pants,” the soon to be canvas grumbles.

Once Louis’ situated on the table and comfortable with pillows from the bedroom resting under his head and feet, Harry gathers his pastry bag full of pink royal icing and the assorted piping tips.

“Gonna turn on some music real quick,” he says, finding the “Girl Bands YAS” playlist, and Little Mix starts bopping about their hair.

They hum along as Harry gets everything situated. He decides to start with the medium round tip he uses every day at the bakery, just to get the feel for laying icing on his husband.

He positions Louis’ arm so it’s fairly flat against the table, leaning over to start working on outlining the antlers of the stag on his bicep.

“‘s pretty cold,” Louis mumbles, and Harry just hums in reply, knowing it’ll warm up the longer the bag stays in his hand.

Before he knows it the entire tattoo is outlined perfectly. It turns out to be a great way to start - it raises his confidence to use an advanced tip next.

“Which one is that?” Louis asks.

“108,” Harry says as he drops the clean tip in the bottom of a new baggie. The buttercream is in a bowl by the sink, waiting to go into the fresh bag. He saunters over to get it, dancing along to TLC, and as he turns to go back to the table, his breath hitches in his throat.

He never takes Louis for granted. Pining over him for more than a year taught Harry that time is too easily wasted, moves too quickly if you don’t pay attention. In the three years they’ve been married, he makes a conscious effort everyday to appreciate having Louis in his life for more than just a brief exchange over the cash register at the bakery.

Right now, he _completely_ appreciates Louis. The way his body looks laying across the table where they share morning tea and late night ice cream indulgences, where Harry’s mom and sister first sat swapping embarrassing childhood stories with Louis’ family - it’s utterly sinful.

The gentle slope of his muscular thighs, the solid line of his chest - everything is too much. The best part is the smooth wave of space between the table and Louis’ lower back, an arch that enhances his delectably curvy body.

Harry licks his lips as he sits back down to move the frosting into the bag, willing his mind to concentrate on practicing for the test, not on devouring Louis like a holiday feast.

“What does 108 mean?” Louis asks, breaking Harry out of his mental struggle.

“It’s, um,” he has to clear his throat to talk normally, “it’s a drop flower tip. I’m gonna use it to fill in the heart right here.”

He starts to lightly press small pink flowers into the dotted heart between the stag’s antlers. To get the right effect he has to twist his wrist as soon as the buttercream touches skin so the flower petals look more natural.

“D’you change icings?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry answers, “the royal icing is for outlining and filling in shapes. It’s not thick enough to hold these patterns.”

Surprisingly, after the first two attempts, he manages to get into a perfect rhythm. Squeeze, press, twist - over and over until the dark ink of the tattoo is covered.

“Gonna keep going, this actually doesn’t look half bad,” he says more to himself than Louis.

“Well duh, got the greatest pastry chef ever working on decorating me,” Louis teases.

Harry can’t help the blush that rises up his cheeks. After years of compliments and sweet gestures, Louis can still turn him red at the drop of a hat.

He covers the stag’s body in smaller flowers before moving on to the next tip and tattoo.

“352, small leaf tip,” he mumbles as he repositions Louis’ arm to make the plump bird on his forearm reachable.

The tip creates a fluffy leaf shape, fuller at one end than the other. He starts near the bird’s neck and works out across the body, thinking of the shape more like feathers than plant parts.

“So many good penis jokes right now,” Louis says.

Harry looks up, at him, expecting Louis to continue.

“All this tip talk, you know?”

Harry giggles, bringing the full pastry bag up to cover his face.

He regains his composure and gets back to piping. After a few tries, he has no choice but to start over. It’s an absolute disaster.

He almost gets up to grab a towel or  tool to scrape it all off Louis’ skin, but then, probably motivated by the part of his brain constantly drooling over Louis’ nearly naked body, he simply leans down and swipes his tongue over the mistakes.

Louis audibly gasps and slightly jerks his arm, but relaxes almost as quickly.

“Messed up,” Harry says once he’s swallowed the icing.

He watches Louis’ adams apple bounce as he also swallows, “Yeah, can’t say I’m pissed at that,” he chokes out.

Seeing Louis so affected sets off all kinds of glorious bells in Harry’s mind. He takes a sweeping glance at the numerous remaining tattoos scattered over Louis, and picks the next few to work on, less for their piping practice potential and more for their sexy time probability.

He licks the last bit of icing off the tattoo and says, “Damn, I make a great buttercream.”

Without warning Louis, Harry scrambles on the table with him, straddling his thighs.

“This escalated fast,” Louis laughs, grabbing Harry’s hips to shift him closer.

“Hey,” Harry starts, swatting at Louis’ hands, “no touching. I’m still working here.”

Louis hums and lays his arms back on the table. His face is soft and sweet, comforting like a warm muffin on a foggy day.

Harry changes the tip again to a ruffle. Leaning down to one of his favorite tattoos - the dagger on Louis’ left forearm - he positions the bag. To get the perfect flowy ruffle effect, he needs to sway his wrist back and forth as he pipes, but instead, he keeps the bag and tip steady so the buttercream lays on Louis’ skin in a way that mimics the sharp edges and raised center of the small knife.

He concentrates hard, narrowing his focus to the steady motion of his hands, but not enough to miss Louis’ breathing increasing. Every small stroke across the ink causes his abdomen to inflate, and as soon as Harry stops squeezing cold sugar onto his skin, Louis releases the air in short puffs.

Right before he finishes bringing the dagger to life in pink icing, he purposefully slips and drags the piping tip down toward the skull near Louis wrist.

“Whoops,” he whispers, voice lower than normal.

Harry scoots back a little farther until his hips straddle just above Louis’ knees, and he leans down to drag his tongue through the thick, sweet, creamy, tattoo coating. He feels Louis shudder, and isn’t surprised when his right hand lands in Harry’s hair, keeping him focused on Louis’ arm.

There’s reverence in licking the tattoo, like each pass of his tongue lays a little portion of the love and affection he feels for Louis. It’s also like he’s taking ownership of it, claiming the small section of skin, even though the rose that completes the classic pair is already inked in the same place on his own arm.  

When it’s gone and he’s swallowed all the fluffy, sugary cream, Harry sits up, removing Louis’ hand from his curls. He smirks, holding Louis’ wrist upright so he can trace around his own lips with Louis’ fingers, checking for left over icing. Sure enough, there’s a little dot on his ring finger, and Harry flicks his tongue out to catch it.

It’s not enough, though, and he takes the entire digit into his mouth in one go, rolling it around until it’s dripping when he lets it fall out.   

“You’re seriously gonna kill me,” Louis says, voice rough and scratchy, just like he sounds the mornings after they willingly sacrifice sleep time for orgasms.

Harry smirks and reaches for the first baggie, round tip still in place.

“C’mon, H, lets just go to bed, yeah?” Louis encourages, face flushed.

Harry has a plan, though, and the promise of Louis’ soft, warm skin next to the cool sheets isn’t even enough to distract him.

“Naw, have one more thing to practice.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Get on with it then. Wanna be inside you so bad.”

Harry groans, questioning the necessity of all of this. The plan is solid, though, and he positions himself higher up, hips nearly to Louis’ belly button. This tip and the smooth royal icing are perfect for tracing the scrolling, loopy letters of Louis’ “It Is What It Is” tattoo across his sinful collarbones.

He must realize Harry’s intention right before he starts piping because Louis lets out a less than quiet moan as the first string hits skin.

“Harry, god-” Louis stutters, stretching his neck and making the icing go out of the thin line.

“Gotta stay still so I can get it perfect,” he gently scolds, leaning down to brush his lips and tongue over the too-extended “I.”

Louis’ body vibrates when Harry touches him, even though it’s only for a second. When he leans back up to start again, the shine of the wetness left behind by his mouth is obscene next to the sharp rise of Louis’ collarbone.

It takes everything he has to keep piping. When he gets to the second “It,” he slightly repositions his body, shifting backwards enough to feel Louis’ hardness press into his thigh.

“Christ, Lou,” he groans, tossing the pastry bag aside and dipping down to worship.

He licks across the parts of the tattoo that don’t have any pink liquid sugar covering them, finishing the tracing with his tongue. His breathing is erratic, half tiny whimpers at the pure _Louis_ taste flooding his mouth, half breathy moans every time Louis’ cock brushes against his thigh.

At the end of the phrase, he can’t help sucking a bit of the skin into his mouth, wanting to leave a deep, purple bruise. He works over it with his teeth and tongue, alternating pinching and soothing until Louis’ groans reach an almost fever pitch. He’s squirming underneath Harry, digging his blunt fingertips into the soft pockets of fluff around Harry’s hips.

“Bedroom, fuck… please, lube” Louis whines in between gasps.

“Yeah… yeah, okay, god,” Harry mumbles, feeling a wave of goosebumps flow over his body in anticipation.

The air is cooler off the table, away from Louis.

Harry’s never stumbled to their room faster than this moment, not letting his pulsing erection get in the way of progress. The supplies are in the little basket on Louis’ nightstand, and once he’s selected the necessities, he frantically strips the threadbare tee and soft pajama pants from his body.

“Harry, I swear…” he hears Louis saying in the kitchen.

“Coming,” he calls out.

“Better not be,” Louis jokes. Harry can’t help but shake his head as he makes his way back to the table.

A groan from his soul fills the room as he rounds the corner. Louis’ lost the green undies and is laying with his legs spread wide, stroking himself under the bright lights of the chandelier.

The lighting feature is still a source of conflict between them. When they first moved into the house, they’d loved spending weekends going to shops and updating finishes around their new home. They easily agreed on style and flair, both wanting a comfortable living space with a splash of glam accents.

The dining room lighting, though, was impossible. Harry wanted something modern, clean, and shiney. Louis demanded rustic glam with Edison bulbs to flow with the live-edge table. For months they went back and forth, constantly sending each other links and screenshots of ideas, but to no avail.

Hanging above the table Louis is so wantonly laying on right now is the same boring fixture that’s been there three years - brassy gold with six small fluted lamps facing the ceiling. The only good thing about the damn thing is it’s attachment to a dimmer, which Harry uses to soften the light before climbing back up on the table and sitting in the space between Louis’ knees.

He sets the supplies to the side and nuzzles his face against the creamy dip of Louis’ hip, giving little bites to the thin skin.

His mouth is automatically drawn to Louis’ thick cock, and he watches as it grows and hardens even more with each warm breath rushing over it. Harry can’t resist temptation, and before he knows it, the head is in his mouth and Louis’ guttural groan is filling his ears.

The best part of owning a bakery is the absolute freedom to create new, innovative flavor combinations. His adventurous spirit shines through food, and his customers usually respond with enthusiasm. There is nothing, not a single thing, in the world that can compare to the taste of Louis, though. The drop of precome on the tip is the first thing Harry tastes, and it floods his palate. Salty, bitter, and slightly sweet, the flavor is always complex and mind boggling.

“C’mere please,” Louis whispers, using his hand to press against Harry’s shoulder. He lets Louis’ spit-shined cock fall out of his mouth and climbs up, wrapping his legs around Louis’ waist. He lays down, bringing them skin-to-skin for the first time all night.

Harry places his hands above Louis’ shoulders and dips to rub his nose against Louis’, the rush lessening now that they’re fully in each other’s spaces.

He joins their lips, gently brushing the first few times, feeling the soft, smooth texture before adding more pressure and intensifying everything. The sound of air rushing through their noses fills Harry’s mind, a soothing noise of desire and heat.

Louis’ hands are all over his hair, grabbing bits and letting go. It adds to the aching lust throughout Harry, an intense pull in his belly that can only be satisfied by this one man.

“Sit up a sec, babe. Wanna trade places real quick,” Louis says into Harry’s lips.

They shuffle in the dim light, legs, arms, and cocks knocking as they try to get into the new position.

When Harry’s laying on the table, Louis pats his hip and says, “Up.” One of the pillows that made Louis comfortable earlier slides under Harry’s ass, a new, filthier purpose. He keeps his knees bent, Louis kneeling in between.

“God, you’re just so…” Louis murmurs as he leans to rub his face down Harry’s thigh. The scratch of his stubble mixing with the downey leg hair has Harry in a complete tizzy. He closes his eyes to focus on the sensation, amplifying the feeling of every tiny movement.

The closer Louis gets to his cock, the more and more precome Harry can feel beading at his tip. Yearning burns in him, desperate for Louis to do something, anything to take the edge off.

“Louis, please, plea-”

“Yeah, babe, beg for me,” Louis commands, the breath of his words ghosting over Harry’s skin like fire.

“C’mon, fuck me, please…” Harry starts, eyes still closed, “touch me, anywhere, fuck Louis, I can’t…”

A finger brushes from the base of Harry’s cock to the tip, barely there but like a hot iron leaving a trail along the sensitive skin. Harry gasps, body convulsing around the touch.

“Already so hot for me, yeah?”

Harry groans in response, turning his head to the side and stretching his neck. Louis adds another finger on his cock, pressing slightly harder.

He’s lost in the sensation, could lay here on the hard table with Louis pressing against his cock for the rest of his life and never feel like any time passed.

Without warning, Louis pushes a slicked up finger against Harry’s hole. His eyes shoot open, “Fuck,” he shouts, surprised and even more turned on.

“Gotta get you all ready to go, yeah?” Louis says softly. He taps Harry’s thigh, “Relax for me, ‘k? Can’t wait to be inside you.”

Harry can’t relax. He wants Louis in him so bad he can almost already feel the pressure, the slight edge of pain, the rush of pleasure.

He locks eyes with Louis, surprised by how affected he already looks. There’s a halo around him - the light from above creating a radiating effect around Louis’ head and shoulders. Harry has an errant thought that this is how he always sees Louis - the source of light for everything.

His thoughts are interrupted by the addition of another finger.

“You got this, H, yeah,” Louis encourages, “Take it so good.”

Harry whimpers. The stretch is intense even though it’s only been a few days since Louis’ fucked him. The tightness is starting to get overwhelming.

He brings his hand up to cup Louis’ face, unable to quell any urge from his body. Louis leans into the touch, kissing Harry’s palm and nuzzling.

“Just the sweetest,” Louis mumbles into his skin.

Harry brushes his hand down, tracing the lines of Louis’ collarbone tattoo again, flaking off the dried icing. The bruise he left earlier has bloomed into a deep well of color, and he can’t resist pressing a couple fingers into it to see how Louis reacts.

The fingers in his ass jolt with the rest of Louis’ body.

“Fuckin’ christ,” he hears Louis say.

“Please, more,” Harry answers, “feels… ngaw… so good.” He drops his hand from the darkened skin to one of Louis’ nipples, tiny and proudly hardened. He teases the bud, lightly brushing across the skin over and over. The sounds coming from Louis echo the feelings all over Harry’s body.

“Need to, okay, yeah,” Louis studders as Harry drags his hand lower, fingers resting near Louis’ belly button. “Gonna do three, and then we’re good, yeah?”

“Fuck, please Louis,” Harry replies in a whiny voice, desperate for more.

The third finger feels like almost too much, but still not enough. Harry closes his eyes again, but drops his hand to wrap around Louis’ dick. The cry he hears is like music, like the greatest song no one could ever write.

Louis’ rocking into Harry’s grip in the same rhythm his fingers are sliding in and out of his hole. The pressure keeps increasing as Louis masterfully wiggles his blunt fingers around, stretching and expanding Harry.

“Louis, swear to fuck, get in me,” Harry demands, opening his eyes and tightening his grip around Louis’ cock.

His husband just nods, clearly borderline overwhelmed himself. Harry lets his cock go and gasps as the head immediately rests against his waiting and eager opening. As Louis pushes in, cold fire spreads throughout Harry’s body, consuming him in chills and flames of desire, pain, and desperate want.

“Gonna, can I…” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s hips and slowly bottoming out.

“Yes, dammit, move, feel so so good, Lou,” Harry replies, twitching his hips a little to inspire movement.

The drag and pull when Louis proceeds sets off another round of shattering delirium. Harry can’t control himself, so overwhelmed by feelings and urgency. He realizes his hands have somehow ended up in his own hair, constantly moving around and even gliding erratically over his forehead and jaw.

It’s like he’s completely let go, given in to the sensations and pleasure.

Louis starts thrusting harder, ramping up the pace. Harry can’t help the loud “uh, ngah, yeah” sounds that keep flowing out of him.

“Know you like this, yeah, you feel so good around me,” Louis says, dropping Harry’s hips and changing the angle.

“Come, come, gonna come please,” he whimpers,  hoping Louis will take pity on him.

Thankfully, he does.

Louis leans down to rest his left hand on the table, the right one going immediately to Harry’s pulsing, aching, needy cock. Louis starts mumbling nonsense between moans, encouraging Harry’s orgasm. His grip is tight and warm, and within a few more thrusts and tugs, Harry’s coming all over Louis’ hand.

The rush annihilates Harry. It takes him to another plane of existence where everything is warm and tingly, white hot and focused. He’s only tied to reality by the pressure and persistence of Louis’ thrusts, growing stronger and deeper.

He’s brought back to the present when Louis leans down and bites his chest hard, digging his teeth into Harry’s muscle. It shocks him out of the floaty space from his orgasm, and helps him focus on getting Louis off.

Harry rolls his hips in rhythm with Louis’ movement, focusing stimulation on different areas of Louis’ cock.

“H, H, H,” Louis starts chanting, each endearment growing louder until finally, with a forceful gasp, he pulls out of Harry and starts shooting come all over his abdomen. With each spurt Harry writhes around, like the come painting his skin is a second orgasm.

There are goosebumps spreading across Louis’ body, and Harry follows their path with his eyes until he’s looking at Louis’ satisfied and warm face. The gorgeous expression gets closer as Louis drops onto the table, hooking a leg over Harry’s and resting the side of his face against Harry’s chest.

For a few minutes the only sound in the entire house is their slowing breathing.

“Took a stab at piping on you” Louis says in his quiet, post-sex voice.

Harry looks down at the splashes around the butterfly tattooed on his tummy. “Didn’t quite keep in the lines very well, babe,” he teases.

Louis laughs out loud and hushes Harry with a sweet peck on the nose.

  


The next morning finds Harry in the class’ kitchen, hunched over a sheet tray of sugar cookies and small genoise rounds. Not even the lingering ache in his back, thighs, and ass from “practicing” so hard the night before can distract him from trying to create perfectly formed flowers, leafs, and ruffles.

He just completed the first cookie, and while the royal icing covering looks smooth and clean, the small flowers on top aren’t as consistent as he’d like.

He takes a deep breath and starts on the second cookie, deciding to take a little different approach this time. He closes his eyes for a brief second and pictures Louis’ stag tattoo, how cute it looked covered in little flowers. It really helps because, before he knows it, the cookie is blooming with identical floral shapes - easily the best he’s ever done.

For the rest of the test he does the same strategy - imagines Louis’ tattoos and gets to work.

An hour later he heads home, the proud owner of a “Certificate of Achievement in Piping,” perfect for hanging on the refrigerator next to the take out menus and grocery list.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks! 
> 
> Check back (hopefully soon!) for more glimpses into their life together.
> 
>  
> 
> [Allthelarryfics](http://allthelarryfics.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Fic Post](http://allthelarryfics.tumblr.com/post/153798596812/piping-skills-by-heraton29-when-harry-cant)


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